


with a glass i'm pretty handy

by distira



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distira/pseuds/distira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bartending!au.  from this prompt at <span><a href="http://footballkink.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://footballkink.livejournal.com/"><b>footballkink</b></a></span>:<br/>I want bad boy, chain-smoking, motorcycle-driving, bar-tending Sergio Ramos fic based off of this fine-ass picture:<br/><a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lavpynD7Hy1qdzg6yo1_500.jpg">http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lavpynD7Hy1qdzg6yo1_500.jpg</a><br/><a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lavpynD7Hy1qdzg6yo1_500.jpg">exhibit a</a>, <a href="http://i558.photobucket.com/albums/ss23/heyaeroplane/damnboy.jpg">exhibit b</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	with a glass i'm pretty handy

  
"I can't hear you, hang on- motherfucker!"

Sergio shakes droplets of a spilled drink off of his leather jacket. The girl who spilled it leers at him, but she's not his type, he can tell despite the dim lighting in the club.

"Let me help you with that," she offers, yelling over the band. Sergio shakes his head.

"I'm good," he snaps.

"I bet you are," she grins, leaning against the bar. Sergio rolls his eyes and shoulders past her, grabbing a handful of napkins from a basket on the bar on his way out.

"I heard that, she pretty?" Iker asks when Sergio puts the phone back to his ear, outside now, where he can hear despite the residual ringing in his ears.

"Fuck you, she spilled something on my jacket. And no." Sergio cleans himself up as best he can and tosses the wadded up napkins towards the dumpster against the wall. "You sure Pip can't come in tonight?"

Iker rolls his eyes. Sergio can tell by the way he exhales. "He's got the flu, so you can get your ass down here."

"Aye aye, cap'n," Sergio grunts before he hangs up. He pockets his phone and swaps it for his keys.

The motorcycle is tucked between a convertible and a pick-up truck, where Sergio had squeezed himself into a not-space upon his arrival at the club. It's one of his favorite haunts, mostly because it attracts decent live acts and partly because he knows the bartender, Jesús, and he is never one to turn down a free drink. Sergio knows most of the bartenders on the circuit, though, back from his catering days when he worked any job he could find. He's worked with most of them; they all wear leather and dark jeans now, but he remembers a few years back when they were uncomfortable in white-button ups, serving champagne together at weddings.

Sergio pulls his helmet on and slams the visor down. It was a birthday present from his sister. He's got her name tattooed on his back; he figures the least he can do is wear it.

It's a short drive from the club to the bar, Roja, where Sergio's currently working. He takes the long way, enjoying the warm night air- not quite summer, but close- and the relatively empty side streets, taking every opportunity he can to kick up the acceleration.

Sergio squeezes in between Iker's car and Eze's bike and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket as he dismounts. He's patting down his pockets as he walks in the back door, looking for his lighter, but Iker's there, ready to pounce. The Madridista holds Sergio's lighter up, raising his eyebrows. "You're working, Gitano. Not on the clock."

"Where'd you get that?" Sergio frowns around the unlit cigarette.

"You left it on the bar last night," Iker shrugs.

Grumbling, Sergio follows Iker into the bar, shedding his jacket as he goes.

"Sergio's here," Iker shouts once they reach the bar. Ezequiel Garay raises a hand in greeting and then turns back to work.

Iker slips into the back and Sergio leans his elbows against the bar. Roja isn't exactly a 'nice' bar; they show football matches on weekends and have a wide and varied selection of drinks, some of which are on the more expensive side of things, but it's in a seedier part of town and the clientele is mostly friends of the staff. Iker is a shrewd and capable businessman, Sergio knows, but he grew up in this neighborhood. Roja will never attract the wealthy clients and tourists who would actually pay to see a bartender light drinks on fire or throw them behind their heads while mixing; if that happens at Roja, it's because Villa's in a good mood.

Villa is Sergio's usual bartending partner; they take every other weeknight plus Fridays and Sunday afternoons, while Eze and Gonzalo have the others. Sergio likes Villa. The Asturian is a bit flashy, but he's reliable when the crowd gets overwhelming, like it is tonight.

"Pipa's got the flu?" Sergio asks Eze. He pulls out a glass from under the counter and frowns at the man shouting an order at him.

"Yeah," Eze confirms. "Fucker didn't call in or anything."

\---

"Need a light?"

It's 2:30. Sergio throws a towel over his shoulder and turns around. The bar has cleared out enough for him and Eze to take a bit of a breather, but Saturday nights are always crowded.

There's a guy near the end of the bar flicking a lighter on and off. He's wearing a jacket inside, even though it's warm enough to have Sergio sweating, and his hair, blond at the tips but dark at the roots, is shaped up into a quasi-Mohawk. Sergio lets his eyes wander over the guy for a second, taking in the slip of skin visible between his jacket and his jeans. He's leaning against the bar, not sitting. Not here to stay, then.

"Sure," Sergio says. "Drink?"

He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and offers it to the guy. "I'm okay," the guy says. "Not staying." He flicks the lighter on again.

Sergio withdraws, taking a deep inhale. He's probably got about five minutes before Iker comes down and catches him. "You sure about that? On the house," he insists. "Some jackass stole my lighter, I owe you."

The guy laughs. Rather, he grins and shakes his head a little bit, but Sergio has a feeling that's what laughing is to this guy. "Fine, sure. Whatever you've got on tap."

"How 'bout a bottle for the road?" Sergio ducks under the bar to grab a bottle. When he stands, he doesn't bother to fix his shirt where it's riding up. He pops the lid and slides the drink across the counter. "Since you aren't staying and all." He winks.

"Salud," the guy says, still grinning. Sergio takes another drag of his cigarette.

Eze hip checks him and hands him a bucket of soapy water. "Last call!" He shouts. Sergio pulls the towel off of his shoulder and hits Eze across the arm with it. When Sergio turns around, the guy's making his way towards the door.

"Hey!" He calls. It's not his best pick-up line, but it works. The guy turns around, the corners of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Stick around ten minutes?"

"I'll meet you outside," the guy offers. Sergio grins.

"You are ridiculous," Eze tells him, removing the cigarette from between Sergio's lips and taking a long drag before giving it back.

"Insatiable, maybe," Sergio shrugs.

When they've finished wiping down the bar and kicking out customers, Sergio slips his jacket back on, salutes Ezequiel in farewell, and pushes out the front door. The guy's there, leaning against the wall smoking, hands in his pockets.

"My bike's around back," Sergio says.

"I'll follow," the guy says, pulling his own keys out of his pockets.

\---

Early morning traffic kind of kills Sergio. Even on his motorcycle, he can only weave through a few cars at a time before getting held up by a light or cut off. If it wasn't for the third ticket in two months he'd racked up a few days ago, he would be running every light right now, but as it stands, he'd like to keep his license. Mornings aren't really his thing anyway, especially not Sunday mornings, and he's only awake right now because Iker asked him to do inventory at the bar.

Roja serves food during the day, so there are a few cars parked on the street outside the bar. Sergio only ever comes in during daytime hours to watch football, so he feels a little out of place parking his bike in the front and going in the customer entrance.

"Hey, thought you were sick," he greets Gonzalo, who is standing at the bar, cleaning glasses with a filthy-looking rag.

"I was," Gonzalo answers. He sounds congested and awful. "But I gotta pay the bills somehow, right? Iker told me I could take today off but." He shrugs. "Did you cover last night?"

Sergio flaps his hand and shakes his head. "Yeah, no big deal, man. Don't worry about it." He remembers freckles and pale skin and the way the guy's (his name, what was his name? Federico, maybe. Sergio had asked, but the full expanse of the guy's pale, freckled chest had been the more pressing concern at the time) Mohawk had looked after Sergio had tugged on it, tipping the guy's head back to expose his throat. "It's fine."

Sergio usually does inventory in Iker's office in the back, but he likes Gonzalo and also doesn't really feel like it's safe to leave the sick Argentine working the front by himself, so he brings Iker's folders out to the bar and works there, making small talk with Gonzalo and the one or two regulars who come in for coffee. They seem to know Gonzalo pretty well, but Sergio's never met them before, another guy named Sergio and a taller one, Maxi Something-or-Other. He pours himself a few cups of coffee and settles down to work, thinking that maybe this isn't such a bad way to spend a Sunday morning, especially given that the guy (Sergio's pretty sure his name is Federico) was still sacked out in Sergio's bed when he woke up. Sergio hates awkward morning-afters. He always likes folks with the decency to leave before morning.

Around midday, when Sergio's almost done with Iker's paperwork and is mostly hanging around to keep up his caffeine intake and pollute the air with a little chain-smoking (Gonzalo doesn't mind, instead holds his hand out for a cigarette but Sergio refuses. "You're sick, Pipa, not gonna let you die on my watch," Sergio tells him, but Gonzalo just purses his lips until Sergio relents, never one to deny a nicotine addiction), Cesc comes in.

"Where were you last night?" Sergio asks, at the same time as -

"Why was there someone in our shower this morning?"

Sergio frowns. Cesc raises his eyebrows. Gonzalo looks back and forth between the two of them, confused.

Sergio and Cesc have shared a shitty two-bedroom apartment for the better part of a year and a half. Sergio's had the place since he moved to the city; his last roommate, Ricky, was a student at the local university. That particular arrangement hadn't worked out well for either of them; they kept completely opposite hours and while Ricky never complained, Sergio felt bad for waking him up at all hours of the night. At the same time, he hadn't been particularly fond of the omnipresent study-group that went on in the kitchen. Ricky had graciously offered to move onto campus housing at the end of his sophomore year, and they'd parted ways amicably. They still talk, sometimes, when Sergio feels like reminding himself that the entire world doesn’t boil down to the guys he works with. Cesc, a DJ on the local circuit, Sergio had known from the myriad of weddings they'd both worked, and when Sergio heard that the Catalan was looking for a more permanent place to crash than his friend Gerard's couch, he'd offered up the second bedroom. It works out nicely; they split rent and keep the same hours, although neither of them grocery shop very often.

"Was there?" Sergio asks pleasantly. "I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah? It's funny, 'cause I go to pick up some shit for work," Cesc jerks his head at the speakers he's hauled onto the counter. They're covered in garbage bags, ostensibly to protect them, but Sergio knows from repeated threats that they're more expensive than his bike and Cesc's car (which is really _not_ that expensive) put together. "And the shower's running, so I think it's you, but no. He hung up his towel, too," Cesc adds as an afterthought.

"That was nice of him," Sergio shrugs.

"Mmhmm. So who is he?"

"Nobody," Sergio says.

Gonzalo coughs. "Is he the guy Eze said you went home with?" Sergio glares. "What, he said you picked someone up. Not like that never happens, come on."

Which is true, Sergio comes home with someone more often than not. It's no secret, and Cesc doesn't mind, but then again, Sergio's one-night-stands usually let themselves out before daylight. They most certainly don't help themselves to a shower before they go.

"Federico, I think?" Sergio gives in. Cesc grins. "And yourself? Why didn't you come home? Who was it?"

Cesc snorts. "I, fine upstanding citizen that I am, spent the night at Silva's working on mixes for tonight, which, by the way, you're coming to, and I haven't slept, so you should give me that," he says, nodding at Sergio's coffee. Sergio slides the cup across the counter; it's mostly cold by now, and anyway, it's after noon, which means he can crack open a beer without anyone yelling at him.

\---

Cesc's gig is at the club where Jesús works, so Sergio finds himself pulling up in the parking lot two nights in a row. It's a Sunday night, but the parking lot is crowded anyway. Nobody he's friends with except for Iker works mornings. It's mostly the same for Cesc's crowd, he assumes. There are a good number of university students hanging around, too; Cesc and Silva do enough gigs for on-campus events that they've got a steady following.

The floor is crowded even though Cesc and Silva haven't started when Sergio walks in; he vaguely recognizes the guy in the DJ booth, Esteban, maybe, Sergio thinks he's one of Gonzalo's friends but he isn't sure. Sergio wanders towards the bar, waving hello to Jesús, who pulls a bottle out from under the counter and slides it towards him. Sergio salutes him and wanders over to the wall near the DJ booth, where he sees Eze.

"Hey," Eze says, shaking a wrinkled packet of cigarettes. He offers one to Sergio, who takes it gratefully. "Got a light?"

Sergio pats down his pockets for a moment. "Shit, Iker still has it. Bastard."

Eze laughs and twirls his unlit cigarette between his fingers. Sergio puts his in his mouth anyway, chewing gently on the paper.

"Isn't that-" Eze trails off, pointing his cigarette somewhere in the vague direction of the crowded floor.

"Motherfucker," Sergio swears. The guy from last night is standing talking to some kids Sergio doesn't recognize. The Mohawk is intact again. Eze chuckles. "He didn't leave last night, you know? Cesc says-"

Sergio cuts himself off as Cesc passes them, headphones around his neck, Silva in tow. "Hey!" He shouts. Sergio and Eze nod. Silva grins at them. "It's gonna be sick," the Canarian promises. Sergio believes him; he doesn't usually go for club music, but Silva knows what he's doing. The pair of them, Silva and Cesc, can get any room going.

\---

"Can I hitch a ride?" Cesc asks, breathless from the end of his set. "Silva's got the speakers, I'm tired."

The club's emptying out anyway, so Sergio nods. "Yeah, just let me say goodbye to Jesús," he says. Cesc trails after him as he heads back towards the bar, where Jesús looks like he's dead on his feet.

"Hey, man, you can always ask for help, you know?" Sergio tells him. "Next time just yell at me."

Jesús shrugs. "It's over now," he says. "You out?"

"Yeah," Sergio nods. Jesús waves at them both. Cesc tugs on Sergio's sleeve to get him moving.

They make it to the door. Then Cesc stops to laugh for a second. "Isn't that the guy from the shower?" Sergio groans and hopes the guy, standing by the door, presumably waiting for someone, didn't hear Cesc.

No such luck. "Hey," he says, turning around. He smiles a little bit when he sees Sergio. "You work here, too?"

Sergio bites his lip. "Nah," he says. He nudges Cesc gently to get him walking again, but Cesc is wiry and stronger than he looks and doesn't budge. "Federico, right?"

The smile fades a little. "Fernando," he corrects. Sergio resumes chewing on his lip.

"So, um, we've got to go," Sergio says.

"Sure, right," Fernando says, moving out of the way of the door. "See you around."

"Sure," Sergio throws over his shoulder, sarcastic and noncommittal. Cesc punches him on the shoulder.

"Must've been a damn good night," the DJ says.

"They always are," Sergio agrees, tossing Cesc his extra helmet and pulling his keys out of his pocket.

"Dude's got it bad," Cesc tells him. "He was looking at you like he actually liked you or something."

Sergio snorts. "You're hallucinating," he says. "He was not."

\---

"Fuck traffic, sorry I'm late," Sergio grunts when he comes into the bar the next evening. He'd slept for most of the day and woken up in time to leave for work, but not in time to eat or beat traffic, even on the bike. It's raining out and he would've rather taken Cesc's car, a beat-up Mustang Cesc had acquired from a junkyard last year. It took Cesc, with help from Sergio, who didn't know what he was doing at all, and Pipa and Eze, who actually did know what they were doing, the better part of a few months to get the thing in running condition. The transmission is still picky, though, and while Cesc had installed a top-of-the-line stereo system, the A/C doesn't work and the windows are, inexplicably, permanently rolled down. Even with the windows down, it offers more protection from the elements than Sergio's bike, but Cesc was nowhere to be found when Sergio woke up.

"Don't you have a motorcycle? Isn't that supposed to beat traffic?"

"You can only weave so much, also I can't run lights right now, I've got too many tickets-" Sergio starts to answer, then he looks up from taking off his coat.

Fernando is sitting at the bar, presumably talking to Villa. Nobody else is in yet, because nobody actually comes to Roja to eat dinner. The first rush won't arrive until around seven or eight, Sergio knows, and it's only six. "You two know each other?" He asks.

"Went to school together for a bit," Villa nods. "Fer's crashing with me, looking for a place."

"Oh," Sergio says. Fernando shrugs. "Well then."

He turns to get himself a drink and does his best to ignore Fernando and Villa. It would be his luck that he'd picked up a one night stand who would actually stick around. And who was friends with his friends. Sergio considers going straight for the whiskey, but then decides it's too early in the night for that to look like normal behavior. He goes for a beer instead, and then remembers his lighter.

"Hey, I need to go to the office for a sec," he tells Villa, opening the door to the back. The Asturian nods. Fernando's fiddling with his iPod.

"Do you mind if I-?" The blond asks Villa, waving the iPod around. Villa snorts.

"Ask him, he's the maestro when Cesc isn't around." Fernando picks up his head and raises his eyebrows at Sergio.

"Sure, whatever," Sergio says, disappearing into the back.

Iker's office is a mess, as usual. The inventory files Sergio finished yesterday are the only things that are in any type of order. He roots around Iker's desk drawers for a few minutes before he fishes out his lighter. On second thought, he grabs a pack of Iker's cigarettes from the top of the desk, too. They aren't his favorite brand, but he's really not picky, and it's the principle of the thing that he's going for.

When he gets back to the bar, something with a damn good guitar riff and some solid drumming is playing from the speakers out front.

"Good, right?" Fernando asks, grinning.

"Uh. Yeah, it is." Sergio lights up one of Iker's cigarettes.

"I keep trying to get them signed, but nobody thinks they'll get airtime," Fernando says, more to Villa than to Sergio.

"You work in music?" Sergio asks absently, and then realizes that he's making conversation with a guy he should be ignoring. Fuck.

"Yeah," Fernando answers, pulling out his own pack of cigarettes and eyeing Sergio's lighter. Sergio sighs and tosses it to him. "Just transferred here from Liverpool. Atletico needed somebody to scout local outfits, so."

"You aren't English," Sergio points out.

"No," Fernando says, looking at him kind of like he's stupid, but also kind of like he likes it. "Was just there for work."

"Right," Sergio replies, and finds that he doesn't mind when Fernando hangs around for the entirety of his shift, even though he's mostly talking to Villa, when the Asturian isn't busy. Sergio sees the little glances Fernando throws at him, though. He isn't stupid.

\---

Fernando becomes a fixture at the bar over the next few days. He takes over music duty on the nights Cesc doesn't swing by, and when Cesc does appear, the two of them argue amiably over whose iPod to use.

"Have we picked up another regular or do you have a boyfriend you aren't telling me about?" Iker asks on Friday. Sergio rolls his eyes.

He and Fernando have not, in fact, slept together again. Not that Sergio hasn't thought about it. He remembers how good the first time was, and when Fernando wears jeans with rips over the thighs, like tonight, and takes off his leather jacket to reveal muscular arms and tattoos, also like tonight, Sergio sometimes finds himself staring a little bit too obviously. (Fernando returns the favor, though, nodding approvingly at the leather cuffs on Sergio's wrists and the way the chain on his wallet weighs his jeans down, tugging them dangerously low over the curve of his ass, so Sergio doesn't feel quite as awkward about it.)

"You're wearing plaid," Sergio points out. Iker looks down at himself, sufficiently distracted.

"So? What's wrong with plaid?"

"You look like a fucking hipster, that's what."

\---

Sergio wakes up way too early on Saturday morning. He almost falls out of bed looking for his phone, why didn't he put it on silent, dammit, and who the fuck is calling him this early? The bed is just a mattress on the floor, so it's not a long way to fall, but the jolt would almost certainly prevent him from falling back asleep so Sergio is glad when one of his flailing arms hits his phone, hidden somewhere above his pillow.

 _u going to cescs gig 2nite?_ is the first text message from an unknown number, followed by _this is fernando btw_.

Groaning, Sergio slides the phone open to text back. _howd you get my number_ , he asks, then throws the phone across the room and pulls the covers over his head, hoping Fernando has the decency to wait until at least noon to text him back.

Of course, Sergio has no such luck, and five minutes later, just as he's drifting off again, his phone buzzes loudly.

Sergio actually gets up this time, tugs on a pair of jeans (he's not sure if they're clean, but they don't smell, so he figures it's okay) and brings his phone out to the kitchen before he flips it open. _villa. so r u going?_ Sergio makes a mental note to have a word with Villa about giving out his number.

"Why are you up?" Cesc asks, coming out of his room and scrubbing a hand over his short hair. He wanders towards the refrigerator, opens the door, and stares at its contents for a minute. "We have no food."

"Fuck," Sergio says. _maybe idk_ , he texts back to Fernando, and then slides the phone into his back pocket.

Instead of grocery shopping, they head over to Roja in the Mustang to raid Iker's refrigerator. Pipa's there, sitting on the bar and flipping channels on the tiny TV Iker usually keeps in his office. Sergio makes an extra sandwich and they stick around for a while, shooting the shit. Sergio works his way through a mostly-empty pack of cigarettes he finds on Iker's desk and Cesc finds reruns of some sitcom on the TV. It's not a bad way to spend an afternoon, Sergio thinks. He definitely isn't looking over his shoulder at the door every now and again, wondering if Fernando will show up.

"C'mon, I gotta go by Silva's to get some tracks," Cesc says eventually, standing up. "Hey, Pipa, you should come tonight, you're feeling better, right?"

"Sure," Gonzalo nods. "Where?"

"Jesús's," Cesc answers. "I spin at 11."

\---

Cesc drops Sergio off at the apartment before going to Silva's. Sergio takes a nap and wakes up in time to get dressed before heading to Jesús's. He pulls out a pair of jeans he knows are clean, even though they're ripped and a little tighter than he usually wears (he catches himself thinking about Fernando looking at his ass in them as he does up his belt, grins to himself, then shakes his head. He is not getting dressed for Fernando) and a black t-shirt that fits snugly across his chest. His tattoos are visible below the edge of his sleeves. He only buckles on one of his wrist cuffs, leaving the other off to show off the bracelet tattoo, but he does put the chain collar on. It's what he usually wears when he goes out. (If he's thinking about Fernando's nod at his cuffs as he fastens the collar, it's completely coincidental.)

Iker calls him as he's grabbing his jacket and keys and heading out.

"Quit stealing my cigarettes."

"Quit wearing plaid."

They both laugh. "What're you up to tonight?" Iker asks.

"Cesc's got a gig," Sergio says, putting his arms into the jacket sleeves and shrugging it on. "You working?"

"Yeah," Iker answers. "You're on tomorrow, though, afternoon shift. Don't be late."

\---

Sergio arrives at the club just before eleven. It's crowded, much more so than the last time he was here. He heads straight for the bar again, fist-bumping Jesús and accepting his free drink. "Holler if you need me," he tells the other bartender, who nods.

Silva appears at Sergio's elbow. "You not spinning tonight?" Sergio asks, frowning.

"Nah, Cesc's been working on some of his own stuff, I don't know." Silva shrugs. "Kinda nice to have a night off, though."

"Mmhmm," Sergio agrees absently. He takes his jacket off and tosses it over the counter at Jesús, who flips him the finger and hangs it up.

"It's good, though. This," Sergio says, hooking a thumb in the direction of the DJ box. Silva nods.

The crowd seems to agree, because the room's hot and everyone's warming up to the music, which is a little heavier and less techno than Cesc's usual fare.

"Hey!"

Sergio turns away from Silva to see Fernando, leaning invitingly against the bar, grinning crookedly.

"Hey," he says.

"It's good, right?" Fernando's positively beaming.

"Yeah," Sergio says. "Different than Cesc's usual, but yeah, it's good."

"I've got one of the managers here, I hope he thinks so, too," Fernando tells him. Sergio has to take a step closer to hear him over the music.

"They one of your bands?" He asks.

"Yep," Fernando answers smoothly. "Cesc played with the tracks a little bit, but they liked it so hopefully it'll get them picked up."

They watch Cesc for a little while. He's grinning in the DJ booth, one ear pressed into his headphones. He spots them and waves.

"He said to tell you he can find his own way home," Silva says in Sergio's ear. Sergio startles, having forgotten that the Canarian was next to him. "I'll give him a ride, his car's at mine, anyway."

"What?" Sergio asks, but Silva's making his way away from them, towards the booth. He slips in and grabs the extra pair of headphones. Sergio rounds on Fernando. "Did you and Cesc plan this?"

Fernando laughs and raises his hand to run his fingers along the edge of the cuff on Sergio's wrist. "No," he says easily, "I just told him he might be needing to get a different ride back."

"Yeah? You have something in mind, then?" Sergio decides to not be alarmed at how unconcerned he is that Fernando had planned this.

"Mm. Yeah. How 'bout I tell you on the way back to yours?"

"Good luck yelling over the bike," Sergio tells him, but he heads for the door anyway. Fernando's hand finds its way into his back pocket and he grins.

\---

Fernando presses tightly against him on the back of the bike. Sergio revs the engine and Fernando pushes his hair out of the way to start sucking a mark onto the back of Sergio's neck.

It's a miracle they don't crash, really, especially when Fernando's hands drop to Sergio's belt buckle and his thumbs dip underneath Sergio's waistband.

\---

"Kitchen," Sergio says, throwing his keys onto the counter. "TV." He waves his arm somewhere in the direction of the TV he and Cesc have. Most of the living room is actually taken up by Cesc's stereo system (where he got the money for it, Sergio doesn't want to know), but that's an unimportant detail when Fernando's groping his ass through the pockets of his jeans. "Cesc's room is there." He manages to get his own bedroom door open. Fernando pushes him through it. "You've been here before."

"Yeah," Fernando says. He walks Sergio backwards towards the bed, slipping his tongue into Sergio's mouth on the way. Sergio's heel hits the edge of the mattress and he folds himself down onto it. Fernando grins, enjoying the view. "Off," he says, kicking at the leg of Sergio's jeans.

Sergio obliges, sliding his belt off and letting it fall to the ground with a heavy _clink_. He pops the button on his jeans and slides them down over his hips, kicking them the rest of the way off. He smirks for the way Fernando's eyes widen, pupils blown, when he sees that Sergio isn't wearing underwear.

"I really shouldn't be surprised by that," Fernando groans, his hands sliding to his own belt buckle. "Shirt, too."

Most of what Sergio remembers from last time (and he remembers a lot, he wasn't drunk) is how Fernando decided to lick every inch of skin exposed to him. He remembers the curve of Fernando's hipbone (had a bruise from it on the inside of his thigh for a few days after).

Fernando pulls a crinkled tube of lube from his pocket before shedding his own jeans and t-shirt and blanketing his body over Sergio's. He's hard already, poking Sergio's thigh, and his tongue slides readily between Sergio's lips again, fucking his mouth with the same slow, dirty rhythm he's moving his hips in circles to.

His fingers press against the cuff on Sergio's wrist. "Want me to take it off?" Sergio asks, panting. Fernando pulls back a little.

"No," he says. "Leave this, too." He brings his other hand up to stroke Sergio's neck around the chain collar he's wearing. He moves to push Sergio's hands over his head, holds them there, pressing against the cuff. Sergio arches his back, pushing his chest up to get some contact, any contact, but Fernando just ducks down, presses a feather light kiss to his jaw, and shakes his head.

He holds Sergio in place with one hand, not that Sergio puts up much resistance, and works Sergio's ass open with the other, fumbling at first with the lube. Sergio laughs breathlessly but Fernando shuts him up by pushing a finger into him. He bites his lip like he's concentrating. Sergio's dick twitches.

Two fingers scissor him open, then three. Sergio's ready for it, bucking back against Fernando's hand, trying to get him deeper, more, _something_ , but Fernando shakes his head, laughs, and puts more pressure on Sergio's wrists. He spreads the three fingers he's got inside of Sergio, holding him open, twisting his wrist to push further in. Sergio could come from this, could very easily come for this, for the pressure on his wrists and the way Fernando's holding him open, but he doesn't want to, not yet. Not when he can see how hard Fernando is. He bites his lip and makes eye contact with Fernando.

"Condom," Fernando grunts.

"Dresser drawer," Sergio gasps. Fernando releases him to get up and get the condom. His fingers are slippery with lube and he can't get it open, so he tosses it onto Sergio's chest. "Open it," he says.

Sergio does, and then reaches out for Fernando's cock to roll it on. Fernando smiles. His breath hitches when Sergio twists his wrist over the head of his cock, stroking him once, twice. He kneels between Sergio's legs, pushing against his thighs to give himself more room. He reaches for Sergio's wrists, and Sergio brings them over his head willingly. Fernando's fingers stroke over the skin right where the cuff ends as he pushes in, slowly but not stopping. Sergio bottoms out with a broken cry as Fernando breaches the second ring of muscle. After a moment, he brings one leg up to hook his knee around Fernando, who starts to move his hips, slowly at first, then faster.

Fernando's big, bigger than Sergio remembered. It takes him a minute or two to adjust, find the right angle. Sergio nudges him to one side with his heel and groans low when Fernando finally hits the right spot. He arches and feels Fernando's weight against his wrists, holding him in place. His cock brushes against Fernando's belly as the blond thrusts in and out of him, already leaking. He tightens himself around Fernando, who curses against the skin of his neck.

Sergio comes first, but not by much.

Fernando releases his wrists and they roll apart for a second, before Sergio reaches for a box of tissues to clean himself up and Fernando ties off the condom and tosses it somewhere in the general direction of the trash can.

"Hey," Sergio mumbles, already most of the way to asleep. He rolls towards Fernando and tries to bring the blankets up over himself with his toes. Fernando shakes his head and laughs a little, quietly, before he sits up and pulls the blankets up over them both.

"Hey," he replies. He touches Sergio's wrists again.

"You like that, yeah?" Sergio asks.

"You have no idea," Fernando answers.

"Eh, I think I do," Sergio says.

"You gonna be mad if I use your shower again?" Fernando asks. His voice is a little worried, Sergio can tell even though his eyes are fluttering shut.

"Mm. Only if you use it without me," he says. Then he falls asleep.

\---

"Dammit, Sergio, I did not need to see that!"

The bathroom door slams and Sergio laughs around Fernando's cock. Fernando strokes his hair, wet from the shower.

"We probably should've put a note on the door or something. Poor Cesc."

\---

"You're not wearing plaid."

Instead of his usual plaid shirt, Iker is wearing a fairly hideous sweater, but Sergio doesn't comment. Baby steps, he tells himself.

"You've got a boy," Iker retorts.

Fernando is sitting at the bar, sharing some demo with Cesc. Pipa is working, and Sergio is supposed to be, too, but his lighter has gone missing. Again.

"Guess so," Sergio shrugs. He opens Iker's top drawer and helps himself to a pack of cigarettes. His lighter falls out of the pack as well, which is a nice bonus. "Had to happen sometime, right?"

"Sure," Iker says easily. "You still can't smoke while you're working."

"They're for Fernando," Sergio says, waltzing out of the office. He does toss the pack to Cesc and Fernando after lighting one for himself, so it's not entirely a lie.

"So," Fernando says casually. "I'm thinking your shift should end a few minutes early and you should come hear this band with me. For work."

"I'm thinking," Sergio says, raising his eyebrows at Pipa, "that that can definitely happen."

Gonzalo laughs. "You take me for granted."

"Peer pressure," Cesc offers, pulling out his phone.

"Go," Gonzalo says. "Have fun."

"Don't tell Iker," Sergio says, coming out from behind the bar and grabbing his jacket.

"Would I ever?" Gonzalo asks, wounded.

"I meant Cesc, not you," Sergio clarifies. Fernando slips a hand into Sergio's back pocket.

"You two are sickening," Cesc tells them. "Come by Jesús's after, Silva's got some new stuff we're gonna try out."

"Sure," Sergio calls over his shoulder. They go out the employee entrance and Fernando lights two cigarettes while Sergio revs the engine of his bike.

Fernando gives Sergio one of the cigarettes and takes a long drag on his own. "You follow me this time," he says, tossing his car keys up and down.

"Sure," Sergio says again, and they peel out into the road.  



End file.
